Goblin Commander: Before unleashing: Stonekrushers
by SPG inc
Summary: Goblin Commander : Unleash the horde fic. About what life may have been like on a normal day for the goblins. Copyright to Jaleco entertainment.


Another Goblin Commander fic

_**Another Goblin Commander fic. Dedicated to Blutiges who was responsible for inspiration. Am going to try and write about what everyday life may have been like for the average goblin; with a few (hopefully) interesting bits thrown in for good measure**_

**Goblin Commander: Before unleashing**

**Froxx**

Southern caverns of Ashe

The goblin lugger roared in fury. At least that's how it sounded to an uneducated human. The roar of a truely angry goblin was something quite bloodcurdling, literally in the case of goblin commanders. The sound from the lugger was actually a shocked and mildly annoyed yell.

"What you doing! That not s'posed to happen!" Holtorf growled at the young miner who'd managed to burn off what little hair he had on the tough, scaly hide of his jaw.

"Sorry Holtorf," the minor cowered as the red glow from the lugger's eyes glowed brighter in anger. "I was sure it would work this time. Pitboss Meeganklopp said this was a genuine stone from a soul fountain." Klopp held out the fist sized rock which he'd been trying to use to cast a simple healing spell.

"You're a fool to trust that Pitboss." Holtorf banged his huge club-like hand on the smaller goblin's helmet, causing the glow stone to flicker out. "Everyone knows 'e rips off all junior 'Frailhides'."

Klopp scowled in disgust and pocketed the stone. It was bad enough that he was a lowly new born unit of one of the weakest and smallest (and most badly named) war bands of the Stonekrusher goblin clan, so why was he also cursed with a Pitboss sqaud leader who loved to cheat other goblins out of their coin and use the smaller ones as footballs? Even hulking great luggers had been known to find themselves on the receiving end of the bosses diamond studded boots, and most of the Frailhide goblins were just itching for the day that the great brute would end up kicking Commander Grommel by accident.

Klopp couldn't help but grin as he imagined how good it would feel to feast on Meeganklopp's remains. It would certainly be the only time he wouldn't object to having to eat more Stonekrusher soup. Not that anyone openly objected anyway; another result of Meeganklopp's boot.

"Enough messing around." Holtorf thrust out his brick shaped jaw. "We gotta get back to clan home. If Grommel really is recruiting a new squad from us and we ain't ready when he arrives, it'll be more than just a flogging for us."

Holtorf led the way back through the earth and rock pathway to the clan home. Klopp followed miserably.

If there's one thing that all goblins aspire to apart from serving the master, building the great machine and beating each other senseless in skirmishes, it's being recruited to their clan's elite war band; the goblin commander's personal squads. Most units for such duties were usually created from scratch by the commander himself, using specialist techniques that meant each individual goblin was born ready to go into battle without having to endure the basic training and development programme. But sometimes if a goblin proved himself worthy the commander would have him join one of the squads in his war band. In the case on Grommel, his war band 'The Golems' were the stuff of legend. It was rumoured that the reason they only ever fought against human invaders instead of other goblins was because the other four commanders complained that the Golems were far too powerful to take part in friendly battles. War was a natural part of life for goblins, but absolute slaughter was quite another thing.

The Stonekrushers were without a doubt the best goblin clan of all, being the most free minded, battle hardened and longest serving clan in existence. Yet Klopp was stuck with a breeding war band made up of two squads, totaling just twenty goblin units, ten for each squad. All they did haul newborns out of the clan home breeding pits and send them to begin training, or actually carry out the training if they were unluckly enough to have no other warband on hand to do it. Klopp had hoped to learn some magic so that he might be promoted to another post, but in spite of the little magic skill he had, Klopp had managed nothing more than causing small explosions (though in fairness, no one could doubt this skill was useful for destroying contraband whenever a pitboss came by unexpectedly).

Once back at the clan home, Klopp and Holtorf found that Commander Grommel would not be visiting after all.

"Commander sends word!" Meeganklopp announced loudly to the two squad war band. "He will not be coming today! The humans who travelled over the mountains to attack have broken up and escaped, and the boss needs to go after 'em. But he still wants units to replace the four squads he lost, so no slackin' or it's me boot in yer backsides!"

So it was that the twenty goblins of the Frailhides war band were back to the standard routine, blending mud and soul energy to create Stonekrusher goblins and listening to Meeganklopp shout about something or other. Today of course he was bragging about how he'd been authorised to complete the new warriors with expensive and extremely potent elite level moonstones, the substance that bought life to the goblin species. While each new goblin was born into and sent off to join Grommel, Klopp and his fellows were faced with backbreaking work, first building the goblins and giving them their first orders, then changing shifts with the second squad who had been tasked with gathering the resources needed to spawn their kin- mud to form the bodies, souls energy to make them flesh and blood, and gold to ensure they could afford to replace their surplus of moonstones that gave all goblins the spark of life they needed (moonstones could not be found underground, so it was always important to be able to aford them from clan with easy access to them).

"Here what 'e said," Holtorf muttered as he beat a metal shield into shape with his bare hands "four squads out of twenty lost to a whole human army, an' I hear only three of 'em were from the Golems. Two hundred goblins 'gainst more than a thousand of those little bleeders."

"They were stupid to come over the mountains." Klopp's naturally small red eyes were narrowed to pinpricks in concentration as he carved a flint hammer. "Crusaders always do dumb things like that. Probably started off with twice that many humans then lost them to the cold."

Holtorf nodded and tossed the shield to the newly born miner before looking at the new squad they'd help make.

"Three miners, three throwers, two luggers, a pitboss an' a drummer. That's the lot." he turned to Klopp. "Let's go before we get roped into training 'em. I 'ate all that 'you 'ave forty years to live but hope it will end sooner in service' an' all that junk. Why don't Meeganklopp just kick 'em like the rest of us and send 'em on their way?"

The two goblins managed to sneak away while the pitboss was laying into an unlucky rock thrower with his boots again. They were both used to skiving off and quickly found a rock fissure in a nearby slope to hide in while they had an early lunch.

As usual, their war band was low priority for rations, so their lunch consisted of badly minced Stonekrusher soup (Holtorf found a finger in his, but ate it anyway) and rock critter's blood. After the meal was over they shared Holtorf's hip flask of ale and went to watch the new squads leaving.

"Just think. Those goblins are going straight to Grommel." Klopp muttered as he watched the new squads forming ranks. Of course, ranks was a bit of an overstatement where goblins are concerned. Rabble was a word more commonly used when describing goblins in formation.

"In a few hours they'll be chasing humans across the mountains; and we'll be shovelling mud and being chased by that pitboss scum."

"Don't start thinkin' about that again." Holtorf complained. "I'm sick of being used for you to practice magic on. You'll never get promoted. Face it."

Klopp made a face and stared angrily as the new 'Golems' began to move off.

"Besides, it ain't too bad for us here. Better than in the pits. And maybe something exciting will come by sometime soon."

Klopp was doubtful. Holtorf was good at scrounging ale but wasn't known for being able predict the future. On this occasion however, he was perfectly right.

As Klopp went to give Holtorf a witty rebuke, something caught his eye. Down one of the ventilation chutes in the side of the cavern, a barrel came bouncing. It was far too big to have been made by goblins as miners were only two and a half feet tall and even pitbosses were only four feet tall. The barrel was easily four feet and about two thirds wide. Whoever made it must have been much bigger than a goblin. The design was basic and curved, not like goblin barrels which were designed to be strong and very long lasting, and were so straight they were almost perfect cylinders. Neither Klopp nor Holtorf had ever seen the like.

Before anyone gathered near the clan home could notice it, the large barrel collided with the elite goblin squads, creating a ruckus of tripping and cursing units. The barrel burst open upon impact and out poured a large amount of black powder. The rest of the Golems were quickly helping their friends up and investigating the unexpected arrival.

As Klopp watched the commotion he noticed something else on the edge of his vision. Down the same shaft the barrel had come from, a figure had appeared. A figure that was around five and a half feet tall and not at all bulky or hugely muscled like a goblin. It wore a white surcoat emblazoned with a red cross over chain mail armour. The face was concealed for a moment by a hood, but then the creature pulled it sharply from his face.

Soft flesh. Pasty pale skin. The remains of a frostbitten nose jerking out of his face. Tiny ears. A look of blind hatred directed at the goblins.

Human!

Klopp froze in place at the sight of this human, obviously one of the infamous Templers, standing freely and unchallenged in the Caverns of Ashe.

Before he could come to his senses, the human raised his hands and fired a burning arrow at the smashed barrel with expert precision.

Then all hell broke loose.

The black powder vanished in a wall of flame and a roar of sound. Goblins scattered like pebbles.

At the sound of the explosion, there was a fierce battle cry as at least fifty Templers poured out of the shaft and charged down the small slope that led to the pathway in it caves where the Frailhides clan home was built. The Golems were quick to organise themselves, but two of the four squads had been destroyed completely in the blast, and several more had been injured. The Templers crashed into the goblins with screams of anger and the clashing of steel.

Something whistled past Klopp's ear. He looked back to the shaft entrance and saw the Templar archer directing several standard foot soldiers towards the rock fissure towards the two goblin units, while more humans carried black powder barrels into the caves.

Klopp was terrified.

He looked to Holtorf for direction, but Holtorf wasn't there. He was lying on the ground gargling with an arrow through his throat.

Klopp was immediately at his friend's side. He ripped the shaft from his neck and struggled with the field dressing in his belt. As soon as he had the grey bit of cloth he took Holtorf's own field dressing and used them both to try and staunch the wound. It did little good. Klopp barely remembered the limited amount of healer training he'd been given. Being part of a breeder war band, most of the medicine he knew was about what to do in the case of a mutation or brain damage in a new unit (which usually amounted to 'kill the freak and salvage what you can'). He'd learnt about general battlefield wounds but nothing as advanced as this. The lugger certainly didn't look good. He didn't even try to help himself; just lay there and shuddered and gasped while his green blood oozed out.

Klopp could tell Holtorf would die if he didn't do something, so he decided now was the time to take drastic action.

He pulled the soul fountain rock from his pocket and cupped it in his hands over the terrible wound. He began chant as he summoned magic from the earth. He didn't know magic as well as he liked to think. All real magicians had a personal chant that helped them to focus on casting. Klopp only knew a general chant used for cheap tricks. The magic needed to make the spell work had to be dragged from within the earth using the casters own soul, but Klopp was inexperienced and every spark of magic was agony to summon. And the stone he used was a poor object to direct his spell with, assuming it had any magical potency at all. But with human's approaching rapidly and his friend dying, Klopp was out of options.

The chant was infuriating even to his own pointed ears, but he kept it up and forced himself to focus. The spell was gathering in and around the stone in his hand. Manifestations of green light appeared in the air around the young miner and quickly disappeared back to the ethereal from whence they came. There were shouts from the humans and snarls from fellow goblins and sounds of savage battle, but Klopp ignored everything as he weaved the spell in his mind. Then, when he could take no more of the chanting and concentration, he released the spell onto the now still and silent body of Holftorf. The wounded neck instantly healed and the dried blood peeled off, but the lugger remained still. Another time Klopp would have been pleased with the success of his spell, but right now he only felt dread as he saw his spell was too late.

"Holftorf," Klopp moaned in dismay. "Please, wake u-"

An explosion suddenly burst right in Klopp's face, knocking him backwards. As the flame washed over Holtorf, the goblin sat bolt upright and bellowed in fury.

"KLOPP, YOU IDIOT! YOU USED BLOODY MAGIC AGAIN, DIDN'T YOU!"

"Holtorf, you're alive!" Klopp was so pleased he didn't even notice his friend's outburst. But he did notice when Holtorf's face fell and he pointed frantically to something behind Klopp. He spun round, just in time to see the human climb to the edge of the small fissure. Then the armoured knight was bearing down on his prey with a sword.

Klopp may have been a young and badly trained miner with no experience of combat, but he was still a goblin, designed and born for war.

Klopp struck out with his hammer so quickly he'd ended up ripping the from his belt in the same movement. The headless body collapsed. Another human arrived, this time a foot soldier with a spear. He tried to knock Klopp back with the wooden pole, but Klopp deflected with the handle of his hammer and tripped him down the slope. The human stood and tried to throw the spear, but Holtorf grabbed him from behind in a massive bear hug and crushed him, his wooden armour splintering with ease.

The next human to climb over the edge was using a half-metre long axe in one hand and a buckler in the other. Klopp had already realised his opponent was deceptively agile after the human had dodged a hammer blow and nearly cut the goblin's head in two. Klopp's shield was badly dented from the attack and jutted painfully into his arm, so he dropped it and swung his hammer in a wide arc. The man danced out of reached, then dived forward and slammed his bronze buckler forward. The blow bounced almost harmlessly of Klopp's cheek. He grasped the offending hand in a crushing grip and kicked out savagely. The foot hit the human's groin with such force his pelvis shattered. Klopp tossed him away without waiting to hear the screaming. He retrieved his shield and smashed it into the side of the next man's head. A second man came from Klopp's left, but Holtorf caught up and the human crumpled under a single punch.

Klopp peered over the edge of the small pit he was in and saw that the rest of the goblin horde had managed to beat back the crusader army, but there were still around thirty Templers and foot soldiers left, while the Frailhides had only one squad left out of what had just been eighteen goblins, and the Golems had been reduced to just four. The fourteen goblin units had rallied round the clan home and were apparently trying to rapidly grow reinforcements.

"Look!" Holtorf pointed in the direction of the humans. "They got more black powder!"

Sure enough, the poorly armed and armoured troops waiting at the mouth of the shaft were moving another barrel into position at the top of the slope they were on while the Templar knights harassed the goblins with bows (a rock thrower went down before they could make a shield wall, and the horde was down to thirteen).

Klopp didn't think. He climbed out of the fissure and sprinted towards the humans.

Maybe it was the shock of combat or the stupidity of his actions, but the world seemed to be a haze to Klopp. His vision was foggy and his ears were pounding as though his heart were in his head. Everything looked as though it was in slow motion, and danger suddenly seemed a ridiculous notion. He was Klopp, miner of the Frailhides war band, making a heroic charge in the name of the Stonekrusher clan. There was nothing in the world that could harm. He saw the barrel that was his target and he jumped. He landed on top of the barrel shield first. He might have been laughing, but he still couldn't hear properly. He could see humans approaching him, but they were no danger, that he was sure of. Klopp jammed his hand under his shield so that the soul fountain stone was trapped between the barrel and the shield. He spoke one word of the chant, and the spell came to him easily. There was a small explosion, then the world went black.

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Klopp woke up and found himself on his back in a cloud of dust. His right hand was missing, but the explosion had cleared his head. And he'd survived, which was certainly a good point; it must have been the first time anyone had thought of trying a preemptive healing spell just before a certain death experience. He looked around. His eyes were completely unharmed by dust but he couldn't a thing. He knew he couldn't have been unconscious for long as unconscious goblins died very quickly (goblins only slept for one hour every night, and any more shut them down for good).

Then Klopp did notice something. Out of the dust cloud a figure materialised; a familiar figure. It took Klopp a moment to realise, but as soon as he did his face fell. The human Templar with a bow in one hand and a dagger in the other loomed over the stricken goblin. Klopp on his part didn't even try to move, knowing his injuries were too bad to allow him to try and fight.

"Foul spawn of the beast!" rasped the human. "You have defied our noble cause, but more will come to complete our glorious purpose. And will not live long enough to see the fall of your demon race!"

The human raised his dagger high. Klopp watched with something close to curiosity as the blade came falling downwards.

Then the man seemed to disappear. Klopp squinted in confusion and raised his head.

A figure which was undeniable goblin had crushed the human into the ground with a magnificently sized warhammer. Another human came running into view, screaming with rage. The newly arrived goblin hit him with such force he spiralled away into the air. A third human attacked and the goblin cast him aside with a backhand. Klopp wondered if it were some sort of stunted ogre, stronger than human and goblin alike yet being a head shorter than a human. The shadowed figure pointed forward and a host of pitbosses flowed around him and vanished into the smog. A few human screams followed but Klopp ignored them as the large warrior stood over him.

Whoever it was, they were so muscled and bulky they certainly could passed for an ogre were they not so short, although he was easily taller than any goblin alive. His hands were big enough to grip a sheep and his head was the approximate shape and size of a stone buttress.

"Are you hurt, miner?" the figure asked in a particularly rough voice.

"A little I think." Klopp replied. "I'm not sure I can move."

"My healers can take care of that easily. You and your friend are fortunate to be alive after you were cut off by those humans. My apologies we did not come to your aid sooner, but were we occupied by the rest of their force in the tunnels."

"Er, that's fine." Klopp said uncertainly.

"Good. Now rest my kinsman. Once all units have been accounted for, I shall want you and the surviving heroes of your war band will join me in searching for those humans cowards who managed to flee during the battle."

"Join? But, who are you" Klopp questioned.

"You mean you do not recognise me?" The figure laughed out loud then waved his hand in the air, blowing aside the dust in a single powerful swipe.

The figure was a Stonekrusher. His jaw was square shaped, his ears stretched like a bat's. The helmet on his head was more like a spiked crown. The armour he wore was skilfully worked and a blood red cloak hung from his shoulders. His eyes weren't glowing red but a dirty golden colour. His weapon was a hammer of impossible size.

"I am Grommel," he said "commander of the Stonekrushers and first born to Froxx and the Master," He grinned at the astonished Klopp "and you are about to join the Golems."

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_**So, my second Goblin Commander fic. Here's hoping a GC fan out there finds this fic. Thank you!**_


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